


Contend in Vain

by Prinzenhasserin



Category: Original Work
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Extra Treat, Identity Issues, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Marriage of Convenience, Politics, Pre-Slash, Space Opera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-19 03:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11889351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinzenhasserin/pseuds/Prinzenhasserin
Summary: The reasons Sepp is hiding his identity are long and complicated. So is the Prince of Osman's proposal of marriage.





	Contend in Vain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Artemis1000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis1000/gifts).



> Dear Artemis1000,
> 
> your prompts were very intriguing, and I hope this matches some of your interest!

Sepp opened the door of his suite of rooms in the guest quarters of the palace, and was already thinking about what he should wear to impress the Earl's youngest daughter. He was going to sit next to her through this evening's entire entertainment, and would need to impress her, if he ever wanted the goodwill of her father. Educated at the premier space academy of Osman, but as of yet unproven in her field of academics, she was young, smart, certain in her own importance -- and he knew only that her preference didn't run towards men. How was he going to present himself? He unhooked the digital key to most of the palace halls from his belt, and turned towards the lounge area.

The guest waiting there was a surprise, though. The Prince of Osman was lounging on the receiving couch in his front parlour, playing with a trinket and staring in affected mournfulness at the ceiling. It was the composition of the scene that led Sepp's eyes: the slowly moving descent of Sepp's medal of valour from Lotharingia-- not the worst offence to commit as a diplomat, collecting medals of valour; though in this case an egregious error. The country of Lotharingia had been at war with Eulenspiegel for the past few decades, and Sepp had been a celebrated success at court as the new diplomat for Eulenspiegel. His credentials for the post had been faked; as had the medal of valour from Lotharinga, but they had both been faked through the most official channels and not even the Prince of Osman and his Imperial Security should have room to doubt either.

Sepp had been careful, he had stayed away from the Prince for exactly this reason. The Prince was a sharp -- shrewd -- mind, and a great tactician, and if anyone would realise his duplicity without proof, it would be Prince Barac and his ImpSec.

"Your Highness." Sepp bowed, and when he straightened he met the eyes of the Prince more straightforwardly than he probably should have. "To what do I owe the pleasure? I didn't know his Imperial Highness even knew my name."

The Prince of Osman caught the medal of valour his sister had issued for Sepp's own protection in interplanetary space with a decisive gesture out of the air, and said, in a neglectful manner, "I'm sure I don't know it even now, Joseph von und zu Taubichingen." He mispronounced his admittedly rather fake last name with the typical aplomb Sepp was getting used to in the Imperial Court. Entirely wrong, of course, but Sepp wasn't blaming him. It figured that the only thing his sister had given him for his own safety would be the very thing that brought him down. That kind of luck Sepp had been getting used to in the past year.

"This--" he held up the trinket, the medal of valour his sister was allowed to issue lawfully and legitimately but that was not in question here, "--is not a medal of valour given to a civilian from a different country, let alone to someone claiming to be from the Enclave of Eulenspiegel. Though you fake the accent very well, we could not find a slip that would not happen to a natural speaker. What kind of transplant are you using?"

The Prince was right in every single one of his assumptions, and the smug way he expounded all of his facts said he knew that it was so. Too bad that the conclusion he had drawn was entirely misplaced and wrong. But the Prince didn't know that the House of Vaudemont had not been extinguished in its entirety during the revolution. They hadn't been the rulers of Eulenspiegel anymore, of course, but some of them had survived. Well, two of them had survived.

Sepp blinked. "I'm not using a transplant," he said.

The Prince chuckled. Sepp wanted to fold into himself, once again beg for his life -- but he knew it was either too late or too early, and the Prince was engaging, seemed to want something specific from him. Didn't seem to know who Sepp was.

"No, a transplant would have been suspicious, wouldn't it have been? And you managed to slip past our radar quite nicely, well done." Every word out of the Prince's mouth was sincere, and yet the sincerity, the obvious compliments, made the entire situation more frightening. Not again, Sepp thought. Please, not again.

"Thank you, your Higness," Sepp said, not showing that he was quaking in his boots.

The Prince was still sitting, practically putting himself into a weaker position in regard to Sepp. It was possible to back out of the door and start running immediately. ImpSec would be crawling on all floors, though, and Sepp didn't trust himself to sneak out of the palace undetected, even with the other digital key he kept hidden. And then, how would he get to his stashes of money? Or onto diplomatically safe ground? "I am a diplomat," he reminded the Prince.

"Come on, really? I thought you were smarter than that. Impersonating a diplomat is treason, no matter who it is done by. You do seem to have the mannerism of a diplomat down patt, but I am not fooled this easily."

"You have only a flimsy piece of metal to go on with your outrageous idea of me being-- someone else," Sepp said with more bravado than he felt.

The Prince smiled. "And your finger prints, a DNA analysis, and a sworn statement from a soldier who recognised you."

He was bluffing on at least one of those statements -- now did he want to get called out on it? Was Sepp supposed to ignore that he was subtly being threatened? It was expertly done, as well.

Sepp closed his eyes. When he opened them, the Prince was still smiling faintly, his brown skin a stark contrast to the off-white couch, his sea-green tunic the only colourful spot in the room.

"I did not think the Eulenspiegel territory was of interest to the Imperial Crown," he said, finally. "And that is the only bargain piece I have, no matter what his Imperial Highness thinks."

"That is not my title," the Prince said sharply. "Do not use it as if it was!"

And, there it was. The Prince was still human, though this reaction struck Sepp as odd-- it was the Crown Princess's title, and some people used it interchangeably for the two eldest heirs. It was reactionary, to have a people have doubt in the succession order, but it never seemed like a problem the Prince of Osman had been overly concerned with.

"I'm giving you a choice," he continued, the steel in his voice glinting, but then he didn't continue.

"Between poison and sword?" Sepp prompted, the traditional methods of dealing with traitors. Not that he was thinking the Prince would go for that, no, the Prince of Osman's method of dealing with traitors was much more _subtle_.

The Prince sent him a droll look. "I think that’s rather gauche, don’t you think? A choice, a real choice — you can turn around and start running, or you can consider an engagement with me."

Sepp couldn’t help but stare. "An engagement?" he parroted. "To marry?"

"No, to dance among my harem — of course to marry, you idiot."

Sepp would have been insulted, normally, but being called an idiot by the prince who was trying to marry an enemy diplomat, who had faked his credentials, had lost most of the sting. He must have conveyed that feeling somehow, since the Prince rolled his eyes. "Rest assured, you weren’t my first candidate."

"What, the other diplomats of dubious origin didn’t have such a convenient reaction to your generous offer?" Sepp said, and wanted to swallow his tongue.

They stared at each other. Then, the Prince sat up. In the parade uniform he wore to all formal occasions, every man had wide shoulders, but here, sitting in a simple tunic, his shoulders were impressive still. Intimidating, but the Prince didn’t use it to his full advantage, sat upright and straight, even though he would have made a much more impressive figure standing. He was taller than Sepp, usually.

"I need someone who will suffer if he should betray me," the Prince said.

"The Imperial Family executes traitors," Sepp said. It was pure insanity that this had to be said. "They don’t — marry them."

The Prince smiled. "You haven't studied my family very intensely, then. In any case, you have a choice — marry me, or start running."

"Along the corridor, which is teeming with people, through the palace which is protected by Imperial Security, to the next space port which has the finest interplanetary security standards money and the Imperial Crown can buy? I may be an idiot, your majesty, but even I can see how bad that idea would be."

"That’s not a title I can claim either," the Prince said, irritated. It was very satisfying. "Very well. A real choice." From behind the couch, he picked up a case. "Documentation, for a — what name do you prefer? I have a Joseph, a Sebastian, a Josef…" The Prince looked expectantly at Sepp, who shrugged. He hadn't used any of the names he'd been given at birth for quite some time. They were rather distinctive. "Never mind, then," he continued. "Diplomatic papers for a frontier position in the Andromeda Galaxy for a noble man of Eulenspiegel nationality, or a marriage contract to the Prince of Osman." He laid two separate piles on the small table that was usually used to display flowers of the season, and not much else. 

"What do you need a spouse for?" Sepp asked, making no move to inspect the paperwork. He could see the Imperial Seal from here. If they were fakes, they’d convince every bureaucrat from here to Eulenspiegel of the opposite. Just like his medal of valour would have. "A convenient scape-goat to take the fall if you shouldn’t succeed with whatever you’re doing?"

"Among other things, yes," the Prince smiled again. "What recommends you among your colleagues — you have experience with children."

Sepp stared at him.

"You volunteered for the Girls in Space programme, did you not?" the Prince asked, and how deep did this surveillance of his habits go? "The Lady Rabia couldn’t contain her delight."

"I will need someone to raise my heir," the Prince continued after another bout of silence.

"I am not able to bear children," Sepp said, questioning why this was something he had to say.

The Prince laughed, again. It was grating on Sepp’s nerves, how he found everything so fucking funny. "I will only need someone competent to raise her. Nothing more, nothing less. Of course, matters would be easier, if you could pretend to adore me while you’re doing that, but I’m not expecting miracles."

Her? Never mind. Sepp unclenched his teeth. "Your Excellency," he said, knowing full well that that was not the title of the Prince, and ignoring the daft interjection that noted this fact, "I would like to know why you think I’d be capable of such a thing."

"Ah," said the Prince, and stood up. "Because you did the same for the Empress of Namreen. Your sister sits on the throne of a country that was foreign to her, and she is its beloved leader. In her official biography there’s of course no mention of it, but she was raised on Eulenspiegel — and her eldest relative and the one responsible for her education there, must have been you. Your brothers were dying at the front, your mother was imprisoned, and your father— well. You managed to raise one Empress — I dare you to raise another."

Sepp didn't have brothers. Sepp had never had brothers, only cousins who had in fact died at the frontier. Why did the Prince cite his sister, and how did he get most of his facts at least half-right? Somehow, his teeth were clenched again. He stepped forward, until he was but centimetres from the Prince’s face, and then told him, "I would never betray my sister like that."

Up close, the Prince looked even better put together than far away from the other end of a banquet table. He looked smug, and the little bit of stubble he had, was professionally groomed, and there probably existed a slug Sepp was more willing to marry than him. "See, there’s no need to betray your sister — and it's probably not best to remind you that you’ve been disinherited quite thoroughly? I thought so, too. —when you can teach my heir to love her enemy," he said, quietly.

"No," said Sepp, and knew it wasn’t convincing. He wasn’t going to survive another diplomatic post — had survived this one only due to a combination of luck, and knowing that there wouldn’t be a diplomat coming from the Republic of Eulenspiegel, and he’d be safe taking the spot until the republic collapsed underneath its internal politics. 

"You are already living under a fake name, arguing about policy for a country that is on the brink of collapse, settling contract after contract that is going to blow up in your face the minute someone finds out."

"Your Imperial Highness found out."

"How did you change your face so much?" the Prince said instead of reacting to the valid objection. "Facial surgery? Or was it a natural development?"

Sepp hadn't changed his face at all, it's just that someone else had confirmed his death before it had actually happened. "How did his Imperial Highness gain so much muscles?" Sepp said instead of replying. "Steroids?"

The Prince reached out, and touched his cheekbone. The texture shouldn’t be very different from that of natural skin. "Fair enough," he said.

And then, the door opened. Standing with his back to the door, Sepp heard the lock disengage, but couldn’t see who had entered.

"Time’s up," the Prince said, still cradling his face. "Marry me?" It slurred together, barely sounding real. An effort so the person entering wouldn’t hear. They’re bodies couldn’t have posed better on purpose, and Sepp was wondering if the entire scene had been planned beforehand.

The Prince had the same blue eyes of the entire Imperial family, and they didn’t betray any of the nerves that shook his hands.

"Yes, of course," Sepp said, as if he was entirely removed from his body. "Of course I’ll marry you. Was there ever any doubt?"

There was a loud gasp, then, the sound of glass breaking. Sepp turned around, to see the flower servant hastily bow. "Excuse me, Your Imperial Highnesses," and vanish through the door again.

Sepp turned around and looked at the smug looking Prince. "I could still run," he said. "It was only the service staff."

"You could," the Prince said. "But either way, I’ll have a reason to personally follow you. Also, you won’t, you don't believe in -- 'only the service staff'."

"Oh, I wouldn’t?"

"Are you going to?" the Prince asked, challenging.

Sepp ducked under the hand the Prince had still extended, ejected the shock stick still in his boot, grabbed it out of the air, and held it against the Prince’s neck. The action had activated the lowest electric setting — it would leave behind a red burn. "Let me be entirely clear about this," Sepp said. "I’m doing this under duress. You will always have to keep an eye on me. I might poison your daughter; I might poison your daughter against you. Only one of us survived a revolution — and it wasn’t you."

"I am aware of the threat," the Prince of Osman said, "it is the lesser of many."

"Well, then," Sepp said, and with another fluid gesture sheathed the shock stick back in his booth. "On your head it’ll be."He opened the door to his room, sweeping aside the shards of the vase. "Please leave."

The Prince was halfway out of the door, when Sepp said — "Sepp is an agnomen, not a nickname. I kept it, because it stands in for the Fool."

There was a hitch in his step before he went through the door, but he didn’t turn back. Sepp waited until the door had closed, engaged the automatic lock, and then hurried to the papers the Prince had left. Out of his other boot, he finagled the communications device his cousin had left him, and set of a Hail Mary for the retinue he had left behind in space.

Then, he sighed, and burrowed his head in his hands. What a mess this was going to turn out to be! But by all that was good— the Prince's proposal was the best thing that had happened to him in years. He was going to go through with it, come hell or high water. And there probably would be both, Osman was particularly predisposed for spring flooding.

He was going to marry the Prince of Osman, after all. His sister would laugh her heart out, when she heard.


End file.
